


As Close as it Gets

by herdingcatsphilosopher



Category: Outlander, Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Outlander - Freeform, Outlander AU, Romance, outlander fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-07-23 20:30:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herdingcatsphilosopher/pseuds/herdingcatsphilosopher
Summary: Claire Beauchamp and her adopted daughter, Faith, moved to Edinburgh from Boston. She doesn't want or need a romantic relationship.Jamie Fraser is living the life of a single, upwardly computer engineer with an unusual skill set. Having been burnt quite badly, he doesn't want or need a serious relationship.They certainly never anticipated meeting each other.





	1. It was Nice Meeting You (Updated)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scwicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scwicks/gifts), [Janmarie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janmarie/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sparks fly when Claire Beauchamp meets Jamie Fraser ... and Geneva Dunsany.
> 
> "Deciding it was safe, Claire turned to leave. She was surprised when the man reappeared at her side. He was standing completely in her space again, head bent looking into her eyes. Like the first time, she couldn't wrench her eyes away."

Claire glared at the ceiling, snatched her mobile phone from the nightstand and peered at the clock. It was two forty-nine in the morning. Listening to Stressed Out by Twenty-One Pilots was the last thing she wanted. Or needed to be doing.

There were times when she wished she could turn back the clock six months earlier to the reading of Uncle Lamb’s will. She would have refused to move if she had known it would be difficult to get a reciprocal license to practice in Scotland.

Then you’d have deprived Faith of her inheritance, her conscience rebuked her. Live in this house for two years, and Faith gets her share of the money. And what’s two years of chilly summer days, gnats, and changeable weather?

Oh, sod off, she thought irritably. Uprooting herself and, living in Scotland the whole year wasn’t what you signed up for, and you know it, Beauchamp! 

“ … to the good old day—” Faith, her eight-year-old adopted daughter, would have found the song sweet—as well as those by Ariana Grande and Justin Bieber, preceding it. But it wasn’t sweet when she was knackered from a grueling six-hour surgery she’d assisted with earlier. 

Good thing Faith’s bedroom was at the back, and she was a very sound sleeper. 

Claire smiled, casting her thoughts back to dinner several hours ago. 

“Please, mam, just thirty minutes more,” Faith begged after she stowed away the last plate. 

Claire stopped drying her hands and looked at Faith in surprise. It was the first time she’d called her that. It had been Aunt or Claire ever since she learned to talk. 

Tears filled Claire’s eyes, but she willed them away. 

“Sweetie, it’s nine now, and I have to be at St. Hildegard Gen by seven.” Seeing Faith’s disappointed face, she added “We talked about this earlier, remember? I must be there and help that little girl. I’ll be free for lunch though, and we’ll spend the rest of the afternoon at Deep Sea World.” 

“Mam, thank you!” Faith cried and hugged her around her waist. “I promise to finish my homework tomorrow morning.” 

“Okay, okay! Now, time to brush your teeth and wash up,” she said and dropped a kiss on the top of Faith’s head. Claire squeezed her gently then turned her around toward the stairs. 

“I’ll be up in a bit, sweets. Remember to wash behind your ears,” Claire instructed with mock severity. 

Faith merely looked up at her and smiled, rushing off to do her bidding. 

“… you bring me to my knees, you make me testify—” Bruno Mars sang out. 

Rudely shaken from her pleasant musings, Claire started then sat up. The new song had decidedly NC-17 lyrics. Dang! There wasn’t any hope for it now. 

Throwing back the covers, Claire snatched up an old grey flannel robe from the armchair where she had tossed it earlier. Taking a wool scarf hanging from the back of her bedroom door, she wound it around her long, graceful neck. 

“… make me feel like I’ve been locked out of heaven—” blasted into the night. 

I want to lock you out of your house; she directed the irate thought at her unknown neighbors. She stomped down the stairs, through the dark house and put on the wellies leaning drunkenly beside the door. Unarming the alarm, she made sure to lock the door securely behind her. 

“Shoot, it’s cold!” She crossed her arms around her middle. “Respectable neighbors. Ideal place to raise Faith, my foot,” she muttered under her breath. She promised herself a reward next week. She’d throttle Ned Gowan, the Scottish solicitor, for his blatant lie about the advantages of accepting the terms of Uncle Lamb’s will. 

She didn’t understand it! She lived in a distinctly affluent neighborhood of two-story houses where large gardens separated properties. Everyone on their street should have heard the same things she did, but no one had notified the police. Not yet anyway. 

She was stomping down the sidewalk to the source of the music when her eyes caught a flash of color. She stopped. Blinked at the parked red sports car by the curb, reflecting the glow of the streetlamp in front of the house next door. 

“So what if you’re an expensive car? I don’t care. Whoever your owner is, he’s still an inconsiderate show-off,” she told the car defiantly.

She continued without delay. Thumping on the front door got her nowhere she quickly realized, so she pressed on the buzzer at the same time. 

“Hello,” she shouted just as the door was thrown wide open. 

Goosebumps raised the flesh of her arms as she stared in disbelief at the person outlined in the doorway. 

“And who the fuck are you?”

Hell, she thought. Geneva Dunsany’s my neighbor!

 

* * *

 

Claire’s one-time girl crush stood less than a meter away, one black tipped hand resting on a cocked hip. Geneva’s voluptuous body was silhouetted against the light, filmy red peignoir barely covering her nakedness. Shiny chestnut hair cascaded in waves down her back.

Claire was thrilled. She was embarrassed.

Get a grip on yourself, she thought. And don’t cuss! So what if you loved her romcoms to the exclusion of anything else? Did it matter if she was once Hollywood’s brightest ingénue?

Absolutely not the time to be star struck, she berated herself. She was the wronged party, and it was her right to request for some quiet.

She squared her shoulders. “I’m Claire Beauchamp, and I live next door.” She pointed in the direction of her house. She raised her voice to be heard over the music. “Could you turn your music down?”

“Yeah? It’s Friday night. Lighten up!” Geneva shouted.

Claire felt her temper rising. That was not the right answer. Not when it was eight degrees Celsius, and she’d been forced to leave her warm bed.

“I can’t. Listen, I left my kid home and your music’s loud. Lower the volume. Please!” she yelled, now anxious to leave.

Geneva looked her up and down. If she weren’t an ex-fan, Claire would have laughed. She would never have thought she’d one day be in a shouting match with Geneva. It was a ludicrous notion.  And yet, here she was, ogling the actress. Admittedly, there was much left to admire. Though in her early forties, Geneva was still beautiful with a voluptuous figure that would catch anyone’s eye.

But enough of that.

“It’s three in the morning,” she shouted again. “I’ve got to be somewhere important in the morning. It’s a little girl—” her voice trailed off as another sound registered in her head.

She turned to see a black pickup parking in front of the red car. Looking back at Geneva, she saw the actress smiling softly.

Uh, oh. Daddy’s home, she thought. Uncomfortably aware she was outnumbered, Claire tried to get Geneva’s attention.

“Please, turn the music down, and I promise I won’t report this,” she yelled in desperation.

Geneva ignored her, staring fixedly beyond her shoulder. Then she smiled flirtatiously.

“Hi babe,” she said in a sultry voice.

Claire turned around in resignation, preparing to make a run for it then froze.

A muscular man, taller than anyone she knew, was striding up the path. His shoulders, broad and unmistakably powerful, were covered by a dark leather jacket. She gulped.

He was stunning as he came into the light. His slightly cleft chin and forehead were both prominent, but they worked together. High Slavic cheekbones, long thin-bridged nose, and cleanly defined jawline completed his handsome face.

Then there were his eyes. Sky blue and piercing, they were set on a slight upward slant making his face even more arresting. All that, framed by wavy red hair made him hot in a compelling way.

He was glowering though, eyes focused on Geneva. Then his eyes cut to Claire as he stopped beside her. She didn’t know how but his eyes held hers, something shifting in them she didn’t understand.

She wrenched her eyes away, glancing at Geneva in time to see the other woman wilt.

The man stalked toward Geneva and pointing at her, growled “Jenny told me ye were squatting in my house. Enough. Get out!”

“Jamie—” Geneva said. Arms previously raised to reach out dropped to her side with his next words.

“You’ve got the nerve to show up here, of all places,” he said in the same tone.

Continuing inside the house, he disappeared, Geneva turning to watch him. The music stopped abruptly. Claire sighed in relief realizing she’d attained her goal.

She knew it was time to go, not wanting to witness any make-up sex between Geneva and the Jamie person. She began inching her way backward, shrugging off the pang she felt. If she hoped to ward off a heart attack soon, it was time to break out her trainers, Claire thought with grim humor.

The man returned, still livid but more in control.

“And where do ye think you're going?” he barked at her.

She stopped walking and turned. Was Jamie addressing her? Her fists clenched against her thighs as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Who do you think you are talking to me that way? I’m not the one at fault here!”

“I know you're not,” he answered, face softening by degrees. “I need ye as a witness though. Who knows what lies she’ll spread once the press gets ahold of this?”

“I would never!” Geneva snapped. “And stop talking about me as if I weren’t here. The press will never know unless she,” Geneva pointed at Claire “says something about it.”

“I ken the leak will not come from her,” he said. “You're not above doing it yourself if it suits ye,” he said with a cynical lift of an eyebrow. “Now, go to the bedroom and get your things before I throw them out,” he warned.

“Jamie, darling, I just wanted—” Geneva began, but he swiftly cut in, “I should haul your ass out right now, and this lady here could file a complaint against ye for disturbing the peace.”

She shot Claire a venomous glare.

“And don’t even think about it, Geneva. I don’t know who she is, but from the look of things, she’s probably one of my neighbors.”

“Then don’t defend her! Why are you taking her side?” Geneva shrieked, hands clenching at her sides.

With Geneva’s back to her, Claire stepped back as a precautionary measure. Those talons of Geneva’s looked sharp.

“Ye need a reality check.” he seethed. “Christ, how many times must we go over this? You're not my girlfriend, my wife,  or my partner. You're not even my client anymore.” He took a step nearer the actress. “Ye stole my key and the code to my alarm. I should by all rights drag ye to the station and let the polis handle it.”

“You bastard! For the past year, I’ve done nothing but follow your orders—”

“And I could still get ye on charges of theft, malicious harassment, breaking and entering,” he finished for her. “Ye didn’t even notice I wasn’t returning yer calls or texts or emails? Your head’s so far up yer ass now?” he jeered.

“For fuck’s sake, this was just a joke! Your reaction’s bizarre,” she snapped, holding her ground.

“I don’t have to explain anything to ye, I’ll just go get your bags and throw ye and them out,” he threatened.

“Jamie, honey, let’s talk about this—” Geneva said in an agreeable manner.

“Get the fuck out,” he roared and took another step toward her.

Geneva ran clumsily to the rear of the house.

Deciding it was safe, Claire turned to leave. She squeaked in alarm when Jamie reappeared at her side. He was standing disturbingly near; head bent looking into her eyes. She’d never had anyone talk to her while trying to take in her face. Discomfited, tore her eyes away.

“Please, stay,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice, considering what had just occurred. “I’d like to make amends properly for putting ye through this.”

She was astonished at the warmth in his voice but shook her head.

“I’ve got to return. I have a young child I’ve left alone for far too long.”

His face hardened but his voice got low and husky. “I apologize for this. Geneva has this idea we’re together and won’t let it go. She’s followed some of my friends and employees. And, she’s stalked my social media accounts and those of my family and female clients for over a year.”

“Well, serious psychoses aside, we women don’t do things like this. Unless of course, we feel we have a claim,” she said blandly. “If you aren’t aware, the tertiary stage of syphilis may result in spinal and brain damage. As men often don’t exhibit symptoms, I advise you to get a checkup for all sexually transmitted infections. And please, do it as soon as possible.”

His face morphed into an expression she couldn’t decipher. Then he began laughing, blue eyes narrowed, lit with mirth. It was unfair. He was even more gorgeous with his nose scrunched up, white teeth flashing.

Claire’s heart skipped a beat.

Taking command of the situation, she added “You just shared too much but whatever. You should quit laughing though; she’s about to come out.”

Claire whirled, not waiting for an answer and ran the short distance home. Unlocking the door in record time, she bolted it then rearmed the alarm.

Sliding off the wellies, she made her way to her bedroom, shedding her outer clothing in her haste. She climbed in bed, stretched out a hand to switch on a lamp. Trembling, she pulled up the covers to her neck.

What just happened? For a moment, she’d been tempted to lean into him. Laugh companionably at the absurdity of the situation. And since when did she get all fluttery inside while standing close to an attractive man?

He’s probably the most handsome man you’ve met, but he’s crude and overbearing, her conscience chided.

Still, the inner voice continued suggestively, aren’t you wondering how his hands would feel on your skin? The texture of his hair as you clutch at it? And whether his voice in your ear would make you melt?

Oh, shut up, she chastised herself. Then she turned firmly on her side. She looked at the two frames on her bedside table, comforted by their presence. In the dim light, she could barely make out the details of each person, but it didn’t matter. She’d memorized the features of each precious face in her heart.

One was of her parents, taken before their accident. They looked young, and so much in love with their arms around each other. They’d been married twelve years by then.

The other was of Uncle Lamb, one-year-old Faith, her sister, brother-in-law and herself during Christmas dinner six years ago. They were all laughing, unaware it was their last Christmas together.

“I miss you guys,” she said, voice choking with unshed tears.

The frames didn’t answer. They never did.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell was that?” Jamie wondered as soon as the woman ran. “Oh, hell no!” he hurled the imprecation into the night.

“Geneva! I’m starting a countdown and if you're not out by one—”

She ran down the stairs in her stilettos. On any other day, he would have enjoyed the view of her tits and ass jiggling. But not tonight. He couldn’t appreciate her physical charms knowing what she was. Or the damage she could do.

Besides, his attention had already been caught by a most unlikely woman that night.

“No need to be nasty. You’ll regret this, Jamie. I swear you will!” Geneva screamed at him.

“Don’t let the door hit ye on your way out,” he answered snidely.

Getting in her car, she drove off in a huff, tires squealing. He took out his phone and called her agent in Glasgow.

“Your package is on her way. Take care of her next time, Dave. I mean it. Ye may want to send someone to watch out for her." Jamie sighed, knowing the other man wouldn't do shit. "Now listen up. This call is the last time you’ll get this advice from me.”

He ended the call without waiting for a reply. The slimy worm didn’t care for Geneva as a person, he knew. She was his cash cow, his investment for retirement. Why she kept him on, he never understood.

For a moment, Jamie felt a pang of pity for her. Then his heart hardened, thinking back on his family's suffering this past year. Of terminated contracts. And all because of that delusional bitch. 

Going to the bar, he poured himself a whiskey neat. Downed it in one swallow. Pouring another glass, he walked to his study where he had a clear view of his neighbor’s house. He could see a faint light from where he was sitting. He’d bet his last pound that was her bedroom.

Perfect, it was right across his.

He’d returned to Edinburgh from Glasgow because of his sister’s phone call.

“Ye’d best get yer ass to Edinburgh brother,” she’d urged him earlier. “Geneva’s in yer house, playing loud music. It won’t be long before the polis arrives and what a mess it’ll be!”

He’d made apologies to his date, a beautiful brunette actress with whom he’d made plans weeks back. She was his type, tall and slim. An airhead, he’d thought further. There would be no talking about anything of substantive value. They'd get down to the screwing part right after dinner. Mindless fucking was precisely what he wanted and needed.

Then.

What infuriated him wasn’t the loss of a potentially easy lay. He’d had to take the M8 as it was the shorter and faster route than the two alternatives. And, he never wanted to pass Falkirk and the outlying areas ever again.

Jamie held his glass up to the light. His foster brother Fergus had already told him about it. He'd teased him in fact, the wee gomerel.

“Don’t laugh, Jamie! Coup de foudre is real!” Fergus shrugged and added, “If you're lucky, it will come to you but only when you least expect it.”

Mam, being a romantic, would give him an earful if he didn’t consider it could happen. His Da though practical would be inclined to believe. It had happened to them after all.

Jamie himself was ambivalent and would rather not trust his feelings. He didn't have it in him anymore to be impetuous. Not when he considered his previous marriage and his track record of failed relationships.

His neighbor mentioned she had a bairn at home, didn’t she? For all he knew, she was married. He repressed a sudden surge of jealousy. It would be best to ask Jen tomorrow.

He got up and stretched, climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He had the weekend to discover more about his beautiful neighbor. Then he’d decide on a course of action if he wanted to act on the attraction he felt.

He wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

His last thought before sleep pulled him under was the woman next door. It was cold outside. Would she be catching a chill from tonight's upset? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Coup de foudre est un phénomène où l'attirance est amplifiée par la sensation de surprise liée à la rencontre.”  Love at first sight is a phenomenon where the attraction is amplified by the sensation of surprise linked to the encounter.


	2. At the Barricades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's social network in the hospital has expanded by two. Back home, Jamie introduces himself to Claire, doing his best to charm her.

  
Breathe in. Breathe out.  
  
It didn't work. Claire's headache only worsened.  
  
She leaned her head across the back of her armchair and closed her eyes. She hadn't had time for coffee that morning, and hospital joe was horrendous. But it was almost half-past ten. She had to hustle if she wanted to bring Faith out later.  
  
“Rough night?”  
  
Claire opened an eye blearily. Alex, one of the pediatric fellows, dropped into the armchair opposite hers.  
  
“You could say that. But it isn't what you think so you can wipe that smirk off your face, Alexandra.”  
  
“Och, no need to be nasty, dragging out my name. So, I did hit a nerve! I wasn't going to say anything but this is the first I've seen you with mussed hair. The residents hate you, you know, for being perfectly turned out—even after surgery!”  
  
Claire rolled her eyes, stuffing her surgical cap in her bag.  
  
“Now, that’s a lie. No one looks good after wearing a cap for more than an hour. But as my friend, you're contractually obligated to pay me compliments. I say you're fishing, Alex.”  
  
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But you looked flustered when I came in—which is odd. You've always been unflappable, even during medical reviews. So, what gives? Man trouble?”  
  
She hesitated. She didn't have many friends and wasn't sure how to confide in Alex.  
  
“In a way. A neighbor kept me up with loud music till half-past three. I had to go and ask her to turn it down.”  
  
“Where does the man part come in?” Alex leaned forward, hazel eyes intent on hers.  
  
_Right after he walked up to the door and stood completely in my space_ , she answered silently. Her neck and face warmed as she remembered those hours lying awake, imagining his hands on her body.  
  
Alex hooted. “I knew it! You're blushing and looking guilty as hell, Ms. Beauchamp. Someone's gotten under your skin. So spill.”  
  
Claire looked down at her long coat, pleating the skirt slowly. “It turned out she didn't live there. The real owner arrived after a few minutes. He was understandably upset.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“He's hot, okay? But he made me nervous. So I'd rather not talk about it right now. Not without a good cup of coffee.”  
  
Alex sat back in her chair and grinned. “In the short time you've been here, you've racked up a reputation for ignoring males of every occupation, shape, and age. You're the great white hope of every woman with a grudge! Did you know you single-handedly ruined the reputation of every Lothario in this hospital?”  
  
Claire laughed. She couldn't help herself.  
  
“Just not true. First, I'm not the beauty pageant type. You are.” She paused, admiring her friend's blonde good looks. Alex could have been an actress or model with her long, graceful neck, narrow blade of a nose and twin scimitars for cheekbones.  
  
“Second, you don't see men queuing to do me any favors, do you? But anyone could be forgiven for thinking you're a urologist with all those men outside your clinic.”  
  
Alex rolled her eyes. "Not my fault they insist on bringing their children, nieces or nephews. But that's what I'm saying, Claire. You don't notice when men look at you with hearts in their eyes. Nothing crushes their egos more than being ignored. But come to think of it, you've never once mentioned going on a date since you arrived three months ago."  
  
"Well, I'm not interested in dating. Or flirting. I have Faith, and she's more than enough."  
  
"You know how difficult it is for female doctors to have relationships. Look," Alex said, holding up a hand when she would have argued the point. "I'm just stating facts here. We fritter away our lives, putting off equally important non-career concerns. And why do we persist in delaying these? Because we always think there’s a better time to start. Girlfriend, your mindset has got to go.”  
  
"Don’t ever think I don’t appreciate your advice, Alex," she replied. She reached out and patted Alex's hand. "But one of us should have a love life, and I vote you. Don't worry though. I'll let you know once I've met someone who catches my eye."  
  
"I'd say this neighbor of yours has done just that. And I think, you should give him a chance. He might not be a wanker like your ex-fiancé, Frank," Alex said in a low voice. "Why don't you get to know him first and see where it goes?"  
  
“Well, it's not going to be anytime soon," she said, shaking her head. “I'm waiting for some documents from the American College of Surgeons. I didn't know medical registration was going to be this difficult for foreign-trained doctors!"  
  
"Have faith, darling. The General Medical Council might move on your application faster. After all, we don't get many summa cum laude graduates of Harvard Medical School."  
  
Claire waved a hand dismissively then started rummaging in her pocket for her phone.  
  
"Thank you for your vote of confidence, but whatever I did before doesn’t matter in the real world. I'd rather not risk losing all those skills I worked to develop as a surgeon."  
  
Texting for an Uber pick-up, she asked, "So what brings you here so close to lunch? Shouldn't you be swanning your way to any of the posh restaurants around?"  
  
"I almost forgot! I was running around St. Hildie to warn you. Tom Thumb approached me for an introduction to you." Alex smacked her hand on her forehead.  
  
Claire blinked. "And who's that?"  
  
"Honestly, Claire! You act like you're a surgery troll, cooped up in an operating theater. Don't tell me you haven't met him yet?"  
  
"I'm not sure. And if I did, I don't remember. Is Dr. Tom one of the womanizers you mentioned?"  
  
“Believe me, if you did, you'd know. And no, the good doctor is not. Quite the opposite. He’s a silver fox with loads of residents and patients swooning over him.”  
  
She stood as Claire gathered her bag and books.  
  
“Excuse me, Dr. Rivers. I thought the lounge was empty.”  
  
Claire looked up at the new voice. Just inside the doorway was a tall, lean silver-haired man. He reminded her of Mark Harmon, the lead actor of NCIS, with his broad forehead, large eyes under strongly arched eyebrows, and straight, slim nose.  
  
She looked at her friend as she joined her, asking silently if this was the silver fox. Alex gave a short, discreet nod.  
  
"Dr. Christie, nice of you to drop by the lounge. I don't believe I've ever seen you here before."  
  
"Och, my daughter wanted a tour of the hospital since she's starting work on Monday. Come in, Malva, and let me introduce ye to one of the pediatric fellows."  
  
With those words, he ushered in a slim brunette woman, slightly shorter than Claire, even in heels. She was striking and sophisticated in a charcoal grey fitted dress and matching coat. Chin-length straight hair framed beautiful grey eyes with dark pupils. Those eyes were flinty, openly assessing her that very moment.  
  
Claire stood straighter, aware she was still in surgical scrubs though she did have her long white coat over it. Her right hand began to rise in an automatic gesture to smooth her light brown curls, but she caught it in time. Instead, Claire stretched to her full height of five feet eight inches. It was childish and so unlike her, but for the first time in her life, she was glad for her curvy figure and full breasts.  
  
The man's eyes snapped to her.  
  
"It appears more than one introduction is needed."  
  
"Oh, indeed. Where are my manners?" Alex trilled in a way that made Claire long to kick her. "Dr. Christie, meet Ms. Claire Beauchamp, our latest US-trained surgical consultant. Claire, this is Dr. Tom Christie, Chair of the Internal Medicine Department."  
  
As Claire offered her right hand, Dr. Christie, eyes intent on hers, lifted her hand gently and kissed it. Claire was surprised, not only at the gesture but at the slight trembling she detected from him.  
  
"I've had the pleasure of being acquainted with the chair of surgery at Massachusetts General Hospital for many years, and he's spoken highly of your work. I'm pleased ye chose our small hospital to practice in," he said formally as he finally let go of her hand. She suppressed the urge to wipe it on her coat.  
  
"I regret not being around when the Head of Surgery introduced you around. But if there's anything ye need, feel free to let me know. Now, I insist we dispense with formalities. I'd like for ye to call me Tom."  
  
Her eyes flew to Alex whose face wore an expression of polite disinterest. Feeling her cheeks burn with second-hand embarrassment for his gaffe, she spoke slightly more stiltedly than usual.  
  
"Dr. Stuart is a wonderful mentor and a gifted surgeon. I'm sure he would have said the same for all the residents under his care. But," she continued, "It was a lovely compliment for all that."  
  
Claire did her best to hide her uneasiness as Tom introduced Malva. She tried but found it difficult to warm up to the younger woman, remembering the challenge in her eyes earlier.  
  
"Your arrival has sparked quite an interest among the hospital staff, Ms. Beauchamp," Malva said. “Surgeons are addressed as doctors in America, are they not? It must have been a bit of a let-down to revert to plain Miss. Or is it Mrs.?"  
  
She was taken aback, not quite sure what to make of Malva’s statement. Alex stepped up beside her, rushing in to fill the breach.  
  
"It's a silly leftover practice from the medieval period when surgeons were considered barbers and not physicians. It certainly isn't true now. Some surgical sub-specialties even have longer residency periods than internal medicine."  
  
"I don't mind it. In the end, it doesn't matter how someone addresses me, as long as it's not 'Oi!' What's important is I get to help people. That's what I signed up for anyway." Claire said.  
  
"Hmpf. No matter, I for one am honored ye've chosen our hospital to begin the certification process," Tom said. "The youngest surgeon on the Massachusetts roster, weren’t ye? And ye were accepted to Harvard Medical School at 19. Your papers on direct and indirect revascularization surgery for Moyamoya were outstanding."  
  
Raising his eyebrows, he added, "Ye would have known this if ye'd continued your medical studies instead of being stuck in pharmacy," he chided his daughter.  
  
Glancing sideways at Alex, she saw her friend watching Malva speculatively.  
  
Whatever her feelings for the younger woman, Claire was embarrassed to witness what was an ongoing family quarrel. She fished in the pocket of her coat, bringing out her phone. She made a big production of swiping at the screen and reading the text message she received.  
  
"Excuse me. It's been lovely meeting both of you, but I have to run. My ride is five minutes away," Claire said. "Alex, are you coming?"  
  
"We can drop you off wherever you're going," Tom offered eagerly.  
  
"Da, it's out of the way. She lives at the Garden Estates, near the Frasers." Malva looked once more at Claire and stepped aside, clearing the doorway for them to leave.  
  
"We can probably do this some other day, Ms. Beauchamp, Dr. Rivers. I'm so glad I finally got to meet ye."

 

* * *

  
  
Her phone vibrated as she stepped on her driveway. Claire took it out seeing the message came from Alex.  
  
Such a spoiled brat! Super awkward meeting. Weird, the text read.  
  
She sighed, returning it as she watched the taxi reverse out on the street. She'd answer Alex later once she'd gotten over the unpleasantness of meeting the Christies. She was surprised Malva knew where she lived. She didn’t think it was common knowledge and it made her a tad uneasy.  
  
It wasn't the dismissive tone of Malva's last statement that got to her. Her reaction fit in quite well with her passive-aggressive behavior. It was Tom himself who made her feel uncomfortable with his ogling, his effusive compliments and kissing the back of her hand. Didn’t he realize she’d just gotten out of surgery?  
  
As it was, she barely had time to say goodbye to Alex, unload her books at her office, and change her scrubs for a long-sleeved top and trousers.  
  
She had to get a car soon.  
  
Driving on the left side of the road, which was the "right side" as her driving instructor insisted, was tricky. She had to be sure she could do it; she had Faith to think of, after all. But she'd been practicing for over a month, so she thought it was about time. Besides, she'd had extensive experience driving in winter.  
  
Aside from saving on taxi money, having a car at her disposal would be convenient. Being able to brush off unsolicited invitations was only one of the perks. Not only would she be able to drive Faith to her violin lessons, but they'd also finally get to explore Scotland as they planned months before.  
  
Shivering in her coat, she turned toward her front door. Not for the first time, she wished Uncle Lamb had picked another part of the United Kingdom to purchase a house. If she had to get out of Boston, she'd never have chosen Scotland. How did Jamie stand the cold last night in a jacket?  
  
"Good morning," a familiar voice called out behind her.  
  
She paused mid-step, Breath hitching in her throat. If she were superstitious, she would think she'd conjured him with her thoughts. She looked back at him, schooling her face to impassivity.  
  
"I thought you were ignoring me," he said, long legs closing the distance between them. "I hope you'll allow me to make amends for last night."  
  
Move, you ninny, she told herself.  
  
He reached her. “James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Jamie to friends. I didn't have time to introduce myself as you decided to leave before I could say anything more," he said.  
  
“Hello Mr. Fraser,” she finally got out. She remembered Malva mentioning a family called Fraser. Did she mean Jamie?  
  
“Jamie” he corrected.  
  
She nodded but remained silent.  
  
Looking down, she fiddled with her phone in her pocket. She thought of pretending she had an urgent call. Then she felt ashamed for being cowardly. But she did need to get going. She had to change out of her hospital clothes, wash, then pick up Faith from her sitter's house, in that order.  
  
She looked up as he prompted, “You are?”  
  
“Your neighbor.”  
  
One russet brow quirked up. “Does my neighbor have a name?”  
  
She shook her head, and he frowned.  
  
"You don't have a name?" he asked.  
  
“No, please, Mr. Fraser, I have to dump my things and leave again in fifteen minutes.”  
  
“Jamie.”  
  
Her fingers clenched on her coat as she stepped away from him.  
  
"Mam! Mrs. Bug wanted to walk me home!" Faith yelled as she skipped up the sidewalk.  
  
Uneasiness forgotten, Claire looked toward her, smiling widely. Hitching her bag higher on her shoulder, she stepped around him to meet Faith halfway, crushing her in an embrace.  
  
"Oof, Mam! Can't breathe!" Faith laughed while wriggling out of her tight hold.  
  
"Mrs. Bug wanted some exercise. And, we saw you pass by in a taxi. May I help with your handbag, Mam?"  
  
Claire saw the older woman puffing up the sidewalk toward them like a small steam engine.  
  
"Thank you, sweetheart," she said, giving her the bag. "Say thank you to Mrs. Bug, then get inside. I'll follow in a bit."  
  
Faith froze when she saw who was in her way to the door. "Who's that man?" she whispered, sotto voce.  
  
Her neighbor smiled and approached. Leaning down, he held out a hand to Faith.  
  
"Hey, I'm James Fraser, one of your neighbors," he said softly.  
  
Claire was surprised at the change in his expression. It had gone from condescending to gentle in a second.  
  
"I'm Faith Beauchamp," she announced, allowing the dimples in her cheeks to show.  
  
"Jamie," he repeated.  
  
"Wicked! Are you a doctor, too? Is that why you're visiting Mam?"  
  
She groaned inwardly to see Faith staring up at Jamie as though he were a plush toy she fancied. It would be several more years before Faith would be into boys and Claire wanted her to remain a sweet little girl a bit longer.  
  
"Och, Jamie! You're back! How long will ye be stayin' around afore ye return to Lallybroch?," Mrs. Bug called as she approached their group.  
  
"Mrs. Bug, would you please bring Faith in?" Releasing Faith completely, she smiled at the older woman before he could answer. "Mr. Fraser and I have something to talk about."  
  
Faith looked at them wide-eyed but allowed herself to be ushered to the door. At the very last minute, she turned. "Mr. Jamie, would you like to come in for lunch?"  
  
"Sweetie, remember we're supposed to be on our way to Deep Sea World. And I'm sure Mr. Fraser has already planned out his afternoon."  
  
"Sassenach, it's fine. I came over to see if you and the lass would fancy having early dinner at The Restoration Café. We could explore and walk around Dalkeith Country Park right next to it. But are ye going out now?"  
  
He looked up at the darkening sky. "Looks like a storm's coming our way."  
  
She could feel her face growing warm, and she knew she was blushing fiercely. Faith—the little traitor— skipped toward Jamie. She took his hand and smiled up at him joyously like he was a favorite uncle.  
  
Claire felt her heart turn over. When was the last time her daughter acted so carefree? Not since Uncle Lamb passed away. At that moment, she would have done anything to keep Faith happy.  
  
She was about to agree when Mrs. Bug decided the matter.  
  
"Och, there's no need to eat out, Claire! This morning when ye left, I fixed the stew in the slow cooker. It should be ready by now. And there’s more than enough even fer Mr. Bottomless Pit over there," she said, pointing at Jamie.  
  
"Murdina Bug, ye must think me a nutter if ye believe I’ll pass over your cooking,” he teased her back.  
  
"Away with ye, lad. I’m not the one ye should be chatting up,” Mrs. Bug replied with a sly look at Claire.  
  
Faith giggled. Three faces looked at her expectantly so she gave the only answer she could.  
  
"Fine, fine. Faith, please go in with Mrs. Bug. Mrs. Bug, may I leave you alone with our lunch for a few more minutes while I talk to Mr. Fraser?"  
  
"Of course, my dears. Take your time," Mrs. Bug said as she led Faith inside the house.  
  
Once she was sure they were gone, Claire rounded on a grinning Jamie.  
  
"You could have refused!"  
  
“Your name’s Claire.”  
  
“Yes. What of it?”  
  
“Claire,” he repeated quietly. "Did ye know Claire means light?"  
  
She didn't reply. She already liked the way he said her name too much. His voice was low, dark and smooth. It made her want things she couldn't have, feel unwelcome emotions she refused to think about lying alone in her bed.  
  
He took a step into her, but she stood her ground. Jamie Fraser might be big, but he wouldn’t cause a scene in her driveway, would he? Not with Mrs. Bug inside her home and Faith by the window, watching.  
  
Bending, he looked into her face while her mind screamed, too close! She refused to let him intimidate her even as she watched his smooth lips move. Her eyes flew up to his. It was a mistake as focusing on his face was all she could focus do.  
  
"She makes three million dollars a movie but hasn't made one in five years. When she was younger, she could get up to twice that in stateside and foreign endorsements for lots of products including cosmetics. But no one wants her now."  
  
He was, she realized in a daze, talking about Geneva Dunsany.

Claire was surprised she could keep up with him. But as she had no interest in the topic, she started to tell him this. “Mr. Fraser—”

He cut her off. “She still thinks she's the shit because of her past fame. The problem is,” he said, and held up a hand as she was about to protest, “she believes she's got the right to do things. Then, she’s always gobsmacked when she’s called out on her cock-ups.”  
  
“I don’t care about any of this.”  
  
“I scared ye," he declared. "Don’t lie. It was clear last night. And I saw it again just now."  
  
She stepped away. Jamie was standing too near; she could feel him emitting heat like a small furnace.  
  
"You could have gotten her out without resorting to verbal abuse," she hissed, finally goaded into revealing one reason for avoiding him. "You knew I wasn't keen on listening to your spat."  
  
"You're Quentin's niece."  
  
She started at his tone. He was amused and grinning at her.  
  
"What has that got to do with anything?"  
  
And like what happened the night before, she saw something happening behind those brilliant blue eyes. But she refused to acknowledge it. He was just another promiscuous dawg after all, just like Frank.  
  
"Well, you'll certainly find out soon," he replied mysteriously, then sauntered into her house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moyamoya Disease is a rare, progressive cerebrovascular disorder caused by blocked arteries at the base of the brain in an area called the basal ganglia

**Author's Note:**

> Coup de foudre: love at first sight where the attraction is amplified by the sensation of surprise linked to the encounter.


End file.
